


A Man Who Saves Others

by longhandnotebook



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Canon Era, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Male Friendship, On The Barricade, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Wrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhandnotebook/pseuds/longhandnotebook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean/Enjolras for the kinkmeme. Prompt: "doomy barricade porn". Enjolras is supernaturally handsome! Valjean is supernaturally strong! And when they meet, they shag!</p><p>Content: earnest arguments, doomy rough sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man Who Saves Others

**Author's Note:**

> The setting and most details are from the book, and the timeline of events on the barricade is from the musical.

Enjolras thought to see whether those making cartridges in the tap-room had enough powder, and coming to the front stoop of the Corinthe saw the strange soldier crouched over Pontmercy. His lips were moving, his posture was reverent and there was supplication in his hands. Enjolras' first fear, that the man was another agent provocateur, quickly re-emerged and just as quickly submerged. After a moment the soldier's idyll seemed to reach a crisis, and he stood and for the first time noticed Enjolras watching him. 

He indicated the door of the Corinthe, and Enjolras nodded, following him silently inside so as not to wake the sleeper at their feet.

"You are, forgive me, an unusual revolutionary," Enjolras said. They stood in the small front bar, with the body of the police spy Javert (so he thought) two feet beyond the back wall. The two men were close together to see and speak quietly in the dark still room. "I must ask – why did you come here? You know we are about to die."

"I came to make a better world for my daughter," he said. "One I hope will be better, at least." 

"Your name?" The man hesitated. "Never mind. A friend. That's sufficient. Yet if you have a family why did you not leave with the others?"

"She is – not mine in that way. I owed a great debt to her mother. And there is another who will look after her now that she is nearly grown – is grown." He looked out the window, with white lips.

Seeking to console him, Enjolras put a hand on his arm. But he felt coiled power in the man, taut and controlled, so much that his own throat dried and he was suddenly light-headed with a desire he had never known he had enough to name it. He wet his lips and swallowed. "Surely, citizen, there will be no need for such painful arrangements after the revolution," he managed.

The stranger looked at him with the relentless eyes of a lion and said, "Love will always be needed, and must be followed. It is the only worldly transformation worth making." Enjolras, caught for the first time in his life between the challenge of love, his immediate desire and the skewed bright clarity of impending death, said nothing. 

The man frowned slightly and looked at him again. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-six." It sounded petulant. 

"Hmph." The man moved under his touch, muscles unfolding below his fingers, and Enjolras exhaled in admiration. It was so soft he hoped to get away with it, but the man raised an eyebrow. 

"Forgive me," he said, in a way that said he didn't really care whether Enjolras forgave him or not, "but you are very confident speaking about love for someone who does not seem to have experienced much of it."

"Being younger," Enjolras said, "simple arithmetic will tell you I cannot have your experience." He was annoyed. "For myself, I have been working to bring about the Republic – what could be more loving than that? It will benefit all of humanity." 

"All of humanity may benefit, but no one should altogether neglect love of your fellow humans."

"And have you neglected it?"

"I have a daughter, as I said."

"But not a wife."

"Not a wife." 

"A mistress?" Enjolras was no longer sure whether he was proving a point or satisfying his own curiosity. 

"Not a mistress either."

"Never?" Surely this was too far. 

The man flexed his arm, seemingly unconsciously, as the muscles in his neck coiled at the same time. "When I was younger," he said, watching Enjolras precisely, "I...shared experiences with men who were of my situation."

Enjolras hardly noticed he was breathless now, so intent was he on the stranger's face, and the powerful tension beneath his skin. He had never cared to discuss or explore such things, as Courfeyrac and Combeferre had, and though he agreed with Fourier that in personal matters freedom was paramount unless it became abuse, this was only when he bothered to think about it at all, which was hardly ever – and even abuse – now it was impossible for him to push it aside. 

The man was still watching him, and said, "You must know you are uncommonly handsome."

"You must know you are uncommonly strong," Enjolras said, before he could stop himself. 

He laughed. "That's two good reasons, as far as I'm concerned." 

Enjolras swallowed, and lifted his chin. "And me." He glanced over the man's shoulder out the window; no one was there.  
They moved away from the door and windows, the man backing him against the wall, disarraying a chair. They were out of sight now; anyone looking in would think the room empty. Enjolras felt wound-up, tense, in a way he had never felt before. 

The man took Enjolras' left hand. "Uncommonly strong, hmm," he said, and without warning grasped his wrist with an iron hand and slammed it to the wall just above his head. Enjolras' knees buckled and he groaned, too loudly. The man brought his face very close. 

"No one can hear," he said hoarsely, and Enjolras nodded, too focused on the sensation of the man's powerful grasp and the muscular body along his to speak. His cock was blindingly hard, and he could feel the man's erection against his own, hot and pressing and alarmingly big. The man fumbled one-handedly with their trousers, and Enjolras felt cool still air against his cock as the cloth fell away. The man spat into his palm and rubbed a few strokes along Enjolras' prick. Enjolras reached down with his free right hand and clumsily tried to do the same to him. 

"Better this way, I think, for both of us," the man said, and took Enjolras' hand away, forced it above his head and held both wrists against the wall there with a single firm grip. Enjolras twisted slightly – the position was slightly uncomfortable, if not unpleasant – but the man smiled understandingly and tightened his grasp, digging his fingers into Enjolras' skin.

Enjolras groaned and shut his eyes. 

The man explored his cock with the calloused but sure fingers of one hand, tracing around the base, stroking him and then himself, quickly and deftly, then trailing long touches along the underside and head. Enjolras bit his lip and nearly drew blood to keep from crying out. He began to thrust against his hand, and the man briefly withdrew it, spat in it again and returned to Enjolras' cock, pulling in quick hard strokes. His cock bumped against Enjolras' own as they thrust together, and after several speechless, panting minutes of fingers and friction Enjolras jerked against the wall – still pinned by his hands – and came with a white blindness, knocking the back of his head. The man thrust for another moment and tightened his grip on Enjolras' hands, almost to real pain, before groaning into his neck and slumping against him in release. 

His grip loosened and he pulled away from Enjolras and the wall, propping himself up with one arm. They breathed heavily together while Enjolras massaged circulation back into his wrists and tried to remember how to think. 

After a moment he realised the man was patting at his shirt for a handkerchief, which must have been in the saviour's jacket he had brought to the barricade, and reached into his pocket to offer his own. The man cleaned Enjolras with soft, kind touches before using it on himself. 

"Don't suppose you need to keep this," he said wryly. 

Enjolras laughed, still short of breath. "I'll have another made tomorrow, in the colours of the Republic," he said, and the man smiled. They separated, and rebuttoned their trousers. Enjolras felt self conscious for the first time since entering the bar, and turned away towards the door. "Thank you," he said. "You are, I think, an exceptional man, and I am glad you are here with us, whatever has brought you here."

"It was only love," the man. Enjolras looked over his shoulder. He was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, though they would be looking up past the ceiling if they were open. He, too, had not fully regained his breath. "Only love." He opened his eyes and looked at Enjolras. "Get some rest, or try to," he said. "Even you are not indestructible."

"I know," Enjolras said, and passed outside.


End file.
